


An Apple, a Pear, a Plum, a Cherry

by Ideal_Flower



Category: Homeland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:24:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ideal_Flower/pseuds/Ideal_Flower
Summary: Carrie had taken his hesitation in stride. She had written Maggie and Bill’s address down on a sheet of notepaper and left it on the kitchen counter, next to his wallet and car keys. He hadn’t told her that he remembered it - that he knew their address from the last time, where he had pushed Carrie into his truck, intent on more than just a kiss. He liked the gesture anyway - the way that she wanted to take care of him, the way she made room for him in her life.Advent Calendar: December 10





	An Apple, a Pear, a Plum, a Cherry

**An Apple, a Pear, a Plum, a Cherry**

They couldn’t arrive _together_. That would be too obvious, too intimate. Instead, they had kissed their temporary farewell in the snow-covered courtyard, and she had tucked the baby against her as she ducked into the waiting car. He had still been able to see her glassy silhouette, hair tucked back along her neck, her fingers lifting in a wave as the car pulled away from the curb. 

He watched until it turned at the blinking green light half a mile away, disappearing among a row of bright evergreens. He let go of the breath he had been holding, as if releasing it too soon would’ve released her with it. They handled each other more gentler than they would’ve before - before he’d gone to Syria, before she’d gone halfway across the planet to find him. A young Syrian boy had handed him a note with only three short words scrawled across it - _Please come home_. It had taken less than two days to find her - in the American embassy in Beirut. 

It had only been three weeks since then. A frantic series of hotels and airplanes and debriefs - of her elbows wrapped tightly around his neck, her mouth hot on his face, the blankets pushed to the floor. 

Quinn felt his cellphone vibrate impatiently against his chest. He brushed the snow from his sleeve before he reached within his jacket to pull out the device. It was from Carrie, and he couldn’t hide the upturn of his mouth as he saw her name - even though he had just seen her, just kissed her, just stroked the snowflake from the tip of her nose. 

_I need you. I love you._

It had been the first thing she said to him when he had barged into her sleeping quarters in Beirut. When he was still dusty and blood-stained from five months in the bowels of Damascus. It was hard for him to respond to that emotion, although he felt it everywhere in his body. 

But this message wasn't it. The text glowed at him. _I forgot the wine for Maggie. Can you stop by an ABC?_

Truth be told, it was his idea that they show up at Maggie and Bill’s separately. He had spun an excuse about giving the Mathisons their space on Christmas Eve; it would be their first without their father. Mostly, he was just scared that he would feel like an intruder in their home, in a situation somehow more delicate than it had ever been - especially since Frank’s funeral. Plus there was church. And he had never believed in any type of God. 

Carrie had taken his hesitation in stride, nodding as she slipped silver-set diamonds in her ears. She had written Maggie and Bill’s address down on a sheet of notepaper and left it on the kitchen counter, next to his wallet and car keys. He hadn’t told her that he remembered it - that he knew their address from the last time, where he had pushed Carrie against his truck, intent on more than just a kiss. He liked the gesture anyway - the way that she wanted to take care of him, the way she made room for him in her life. 

...

The wine Carrie requested was some type of mid-range Riesling. He bought it with a bottle of Redbreast for Bill, who struck him as the whiskey type, and carried the bottles nervously across the slippery stone walkway to the imposing white house. There was a light missing on the strand of miniature yellow bulbs, glinting falsely from where they had been carefully stapled to the front awning. He thought about Carrie’s townhouse, and how the only decoration she had managed to find for Franny was a sad collection of 1970s-era bulbs in multiple bright colours. Franny had giggled and clapped her hands, and Quinn had had to grab her before she was able to shove a warm, festive bulb into her mouth. He had hung the lights around Carrie’s front door after that - a brief distraction, an occupation. 

Shifting the bottles again, they clinked a little too loudly in the paper bag, and he paused to rearrange them. And maybe to delay. But only a little.

“Hey,” a soft voice said suddenly from the porch shadows.

“Carrie? It’s fucking _freezing_ -“ Quinn felt his eyes adjust to where she was standing along the rightside railing. Her blush coat hung over her shoulders, one hand clutching a mug of what smelled like coffee, loose flyaways from her untucked hair framing her face. 

“Needed some air,” she replied, giving a sheepish smile. “Maggie started in with the parenting advice, and we haven’t even had _appetizers_ yet-“ She scoffed, giving a half-roll of her eyes. 

“She worries, you know,” Quinn replied, reaching out and touching Carrie’s chin with his thumb, sliding his fingers around her jaw until he could cup the side of her face. 

“I _know_ …” Carrie sighed, leaning in to him as he kissed her softly hello. The bottles jostled unhappily between them as she pressed herself against his chest. They swayed a little and he tightened his arm along her back, her chin digging into his collarbone as she ducked her head. She gave a light hum against his jacket. “Let’s just stay out here.”

“What about Franny?” 

“You distract them, I’ll grab her-“ Carrie laughed into his jacket, sending vibrations up his throat. He imagined them jumping back in the truck, its tires squealing as they floored it backwards from the driveway, leaving a trail of dust and confusion in their wake. He thought about Maggie, peering through the kitchen window, wondering just what the hell Carrie had gotten herself into again.

“What could go wrong?” Quinn murmured in amusement, watching as Carrie’s eyes flickered to his. They watched each other for a long moment, the wind cooling at his back, the sounds of Bing Crosby and voices and children’s laughter floating out the door as it opened behind them. 

“Carrie? Are you—oh!” Maggie stopped in surprise, clutching her sweater around her as she shivered in the temperature. “Hello.”

Quinn took a step back, removing himself from Carrie, clearing his throat in only a bit of embarrassment, nodding politely to the other Mathison sister. 

“Hi. Merry Christmas.” He stepped forward and kissed her politely on the cheek. “Here. Brought you something.” He offered the paper bag to her, and her face broke out into a wide smile as she looked up at him.

“Merry Christmas. Thank you. It’s good to see you.” She settled a hand on his arm and squeezed it, and Quinn knew immediately that Carrie had told her nearly everything. The family dynamic, especially one between sisters, was something he didn’t quite understand, but when Maggie smiled at him in welcome, the original nervousness he had felt vanished. “Are you coming in? Or… I can give you a minute.” She looked to Carrie then, who tossed her head flippantly, pretending to ignore the suggestion, the entendre of it.

“No, we’re fine. C’mon.” She circled her hand around Quinn’s elbow and tightened her fingers, gently directing him into the house. A blast of hot air hit him, along with the smell of spices and baked ham, the fir and citrus of the massive, overly decorated tree that was the centre of the living room. Josie and Ruby were focused on the television, Franny sitting between them, watching with fascination. She was wearing a small green jumper with a reindeer face carefully stitched on its front - a new present. The one with the red nose. Quinn couldn’t remember how the song went.

“Ruby, Josie, you remember Quinn right?” Carrie asked and they glanced away from the movie to give him waves. 

“Hey.”

Franny looked up at him, giggling as she recognized him. “Quee!” And she held out her arms. “Up!”

“Up? But you’re watching a movie with your cousins-“

She shook her head, strawberry curls floating by her ears, not understanding why he hadn’t said _yes_ , why she was still sitting flatly on the couch. “Up!” she demanded again, moving her small fingers unhappily. 

“Come watch with us!” Ruby said, tickling Franny’s chin, who giggled and squirmed and momentarily forgot her brewing tantrum. "It's _Quinn_ , Franny. Can you say _Quinn_?" 

"No!" Franny yelled, almost immediately. He wasn't sure if she was protesting Ruby's correction, or that they were about to see a full-blown fit for some other reason. Franny's pout faltered when Ruby stroked her back, but her wide blue eyes were focused suspiciously on him, where he was still standing in the doorway.

“Uhh…” Quinn glanced at Carrie, who shrugged and smiled. “You need me to help with anything?”

“No, trust me. We got it under control.” Carrie was already walking away, heading to the kitchen, where Maggie was elbow-deep in the biggest pot of potatoes Quinn had ever seen. He looked back at the girls uncertainly, feeling out of place, nervous, as if he had never seen a Christmas movie. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last movie - _period_ \- that he had seen. _Die Hard_ , maybe.

“Pleaaaaaase?” Josie asked, looking up at him earnestly. “We just started. It’s good, I promise!”

“Maybe for a little while then.” He knelt down to untie his boots, shrugging out of his jacket and carefully hanging it in the front closet. Quinn picked up Franny, who chirped happily as he spun her around and then plopped her on his lap as he sat between the older girls, each of them eagerly making room on the sofa. “What are we watching?”

“ _Elf_!” Josie replied. 

“Never heard of it.”

Three pairs of Mathison eyes stared up at him. “Who’s never heard of _Elf_?” Ruby asked.

“Shh! Okay, rewind to the beginning,” Josie interrupted, impatiently jamming a button on the remote control. The screen went black for a second before credits rolled across a blue festive background. It only took about ten minutes for Franny to fall asleep, face smushed into his navy shirt, snoring softly. Josie had leaned her head into his arm, but Ruby had carefully kept an inch between them, somehow shy. It felt painfully normal. He almost felt as if he was _part_ of their family, as if he belonged there. And when Franny squirmed slightly, digging her forehead deeper into his ribcage, and gurgling happily, he did feel it. 

She made it easier to forget. During the times when he would feel the adrenaline spike of a bullet, or an explosion, or the sweet smell of a clean rifle, something would catch his eye - a child's toy, an impossibly small shoe, Carrie spinning the baby around in the kitchen until they were all laughing and perfectly dizzy. They made it easier to breathe again, even when he felt like he had never had a set of lungs full of air, a heart beating between them.

Bill walked in the front door just as Buddy the Elf was terrorizing New York City. Both of his daughters ignored him, too engrossed in the movie, but Bill raised his eyebrows at Quinn, taking his newscap off to shake the snow from it.

“Uh, hey Bill-“ Quinn started to move Franny so that he could stand, but Franny let out a soft whine of protest and Bill laughed.

“Don’t bother. Peter Quinn, right?”

“Yes-” Quinn had to swallow the _Sir_ , the older man giving him a long glance-over, but ultimately holding out his hand. 

“Welcome back.” 

“Thank you. Good to be back.” Quinn steadied Franny with one hand as he shook Bill’s with the other. He was tall and heavyset, like a football player who had gone a little soft. He gave a hard handshake, but when he retreated, he ruffled Josie’s hair. She swatted him away.

“ _Daaad_. Get out of the way.”

“Sorry,” Bill chuckled, heading into the kitchen. Quinn watched as Maggie assigned him the task of carving the ham. Carrie was laughing beside her, adding butter to mashed potatoes, her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen. He felt himself smiling, the movie still blaring merrily on in the background, but he couldn’t really hear it anymore. She looked over, as if feeling his gaze, and raised her eyebrows, lifting her thumb to her mouth and suggestively sucking mashed potato off it. He almost laughed, but wheezed instead, and Ruby gave him an odd side-glance. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Maggie announced, wiping her hands on her apron as she appeared in the living room’s threshold. “Go wash your hands, all of you, and find your places-“

Ruby dutifully paused the movie, although she didn’t look happy about it, and the four of them wandered into the kitchen. As the older girls washed their hands at the sink, Quinn handed a sleepy Franny off to her mother. Carrie smoothed the back of her jumper and Franny hummed in reply as they left the room. 

“Peter!” Josie chirped. “Don’t forget to wash your hands too!”

“Right.” That was his name. He tore his eyes away from the doorway Carrie had just gone through, catching Maggie’s smirk in the process, as he walked over to the sink where Josie squirted some soap that smelled like cinnamon candy into his hands. There was an impressive amount of food, and after he had finished dutifully washing his hands, he helped Maggie carry it to the table, where it was carefully arranged. She was particular in a way that Carrie wasn’t, or maybe wasn’t _yet_. 

“Peter, please, sit down,” she said, gesturing to a seat. “Anywhere.”

“Are you sure you don’t-“

“Everything’s finished. Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Beer?”

“Wine, then,” he replied, but only because she was already pouring some into her own glass. 

“Carrie?” Maggie asked, and Quinn felt fingernails drag across the nape of his neck as Carrie sat next to him, in the high-backed chair between him and Ruby. 

“No. Thank you. I’ll stick with the cranberry juice-“

“Cranberry _cocktail_ ,” Josie corrected from across the table, pouring the red liquid into her own crystal glass. “We added 7 Up.”

Carrie smiled as she accepted the pitcher from her niece. “We did, didn't we? That was a _great_ idea, Josie.”

Josie giggled as she took a sip of her drink. Without asking, Carrie poured some of the cranberry/soda mixture into Quinn’s water glass. He opened his mouth to protest, but she gave him a sharp look, her lips hiding a smile, and so he closed his mouth again. She placed a hand on his forearm and stroked her thumb just below where the sleeve of his shirt had rolled up. 

“Franny?” he asked.

“Out like a light.” She raised her light eyes to him and he felt his stomach tense - not really in discomfort, but in the novelty of it. Of her _looking_ at him like that, the upturn at the corner of her mouth, the creases at her eyes and in her cheeks. When he had left all those months ago, he had known that that was it for him, that there was somehow no turning back - although there was _always_ turning back. He had turned back. They were far from figuring it all out, but who was he to give a fuck about it anymore - about the agency or even the group. Carrie smiled widely at him, as if it was written in the frown on his face. Her palm squeezed briefly, but stayed on his forearm, despite the food that was starting to circle around the dinner table. 

...

It was somewhere between dessert and Maggie’s fourth pour of the Riesling that it became clear that they would be overnight guests. It had long stopped snowing, the sky had cleared, and when Carrie led him upstairs by the front of his shirt, he could see the stars through the darkened windows, familiar - and yet, different. 

Quinn sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his head surprisingly light from the wine, but still heavy from the whiskey. It was after midnight by then, and the house was quiet - all the girls asleep, Santa come and gone, and Maggie handing him and Carrie a stack of towels only a little awkwardly, a secret smile on her lips as she closed the guest room door. 

“Still awake?” Carrie asked from the adjoining bathroom, her skin wet from the shower. He watched as she smoothed cream on her bare arms, up her neck and across her face, down to where her towel was knotted against her chest. He barely made a noise to the affirmative, waiting as she walked across the room to open the closet. “There’s some old clothes of Bill’s here, if you want something to sleep in-“

“It’s fine, Carrie.” 

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Dinner wasn’t so bad, right?” The towel around her back dipped as she untied the front, pulling it off her skin and he could see the goosebumps rise on her back, even in the dim light. 

“No, it was… good,” he replied finally, waiting until the large t-shirt she had pulled on settled down over the backs of her thighs, hiding all of the skin he had been watching. 

“I’m gonna check on the baby-” Carrie turned then, her face still flushed from the hot water, damp hair pulled back. His gaze was drawn to the edge of her jaw, where she had missed a smudge of moisturizer. 

“Already did,” Quinn said, just as she took a step toward the door. “Out like a light.” 

Carrie raised her eyebrows in surprise, then chuckled. “I guess that tantrum she threw an hour ago wore her out.” She changed directions, her feet carrying her the short distance between them. He smiled up at her, holding out an arm as she lifted the hem of her t-shirt slightly, just enough to avoid restriction as she pressed a knee on the bed, and then the other knee, sliding into his lap. His outstretched arm bent, his fingertips landing lightly on the small of her back. 

“So far so good,” he replied, his voice rumbling through his chest as he fisted the cotton material in his hand, drawing it up just as she slid her hips forward, pressing herself firmly into the buckle of his belt. He dug his fingers into the flesh beneath her hemline, steadying her with his other hand now, his mouth against her neck, travelling upwards as her hips dug into him, sending all the blood from his heart south. She shifted her weight to drop her hands between them, her fingers landing on his slick belt, easily tugging it apart, finding his zipper.

“Carrie. Carrie-“ He panted against her mouth, gripping both of her hips with his hands, trying to slow her down, but she barely heard him. She tugged his shirt free, and had it nearly unbuttoned by the time he grabbed her jaw forcibly with finger and thumb, and forced their eyes to meet.

“What?” Her mouth was wet, her face irritated, but her gaze cautious. She drew a slow breath. “What?” she repeated.

“We’re in your sister’s house-“

“So?” She gave a little tick of her head, a smile fluttering on her lips. “I can be quiet.”

“No, Carrie, you can’t.” He couldn't help but laugh at the momentary indignation on her face. She sighed, but then shifted her weight, sending her hips to the side and her legs after. He felt cold at the sudden loss of her, turning to watch as she kicked herself underneath the heavy blankets on the bed, giving him an expectant, impatient huff. 

“Okay, you’re right, okay?” 

He didn’t really feel the need to answer, pushing himself off the mattress, already starting to undress, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, the halfway unbuckled belt, the zipper in his jeans. The room was cool, although he could smell the heat from the radiator by the window, and Carrie hurriedly made room as he slipped next to her, haphazardly jerking the blankets up around their ears. She snorted, but didn’t complain when he wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her closer, their noses touching, her thigh lifting to wrap around his hip, nestling their bodies together.

She had her eyes open only for a minute, and then the exhaustion of the day, of the last year caught up with her, and her eyelids slid closed. Her breathing steadied, lightened and her exhales tickled his lips. 

There were other days. Other nights. So many more nights.

“Hey, Carrie.” His voice came out clear, loud between them, but soft in the room. 

“Hm.” She drew herself somehow closer to him and nuzzled her face between his and the pillow, much like Franny did. 

“I need you.”

Only her lips moved, twitching in a smile, although she stayed perfectly still in his arms. “I love you,” she replied.

**Author's Note:**

> 


End file.
